


The Conductor

by moth2fic



Series: The Train [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:19:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: The conductor thinks about his train.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written to introduce the banner created by rubyelf which can be used by anyone who creates a passenger for the train.

The conductor leaned out of the window, looking up and down the line. He knew it was a perfectly stupid thing to do and that people who leaned out of train windows deserved their fate, including losing their heads to bridges or branches. However, he also knew he was in all probability immune to such fates. 

He needed to see where they were and whether there was anyone waiting. This was more important than his personal corporeal integrity. Besides, he did it every evening, for every passenger and nothing untoward ever happened. Once, he had ended up with a headache after they had swooshed under an unexpected bridge just as he was withdrawing his head. That had been in the very early days, not long after the switch from horse drawn transport to trains. Now, he thought he knew the line. All the lines. And all the timing. 

He knew exactly where the regular passengers waited, or, if they didn't wait in one spot, where they could be found. If they tried to avoid the train he would shrug and leave them to fend for themselves for a night. They usually boarded meekly enough next time. One or two whose names were on his manifest had so far refused to come out into the open. They too would board in the end. 

First-time passengers were less easy to deal with. They often stumbled through their new world creating eddies of chaos around themselves. They didn't recognise either rural train halts or proper stations. It was important to go slowly, not to frighten them, to allow them to get used to the idea that there would be transport waiting at the end of their day.

There were cleaners to contend with, too. They boarded every morning, thinking it was just another job. He never disillusioned them. Nor did he pry into their private lives. The train usually stood, stationary, until the cleaners left in a chattering mob, cheerfully waving their buckets and brooms, and the huge refuse bags they had filled. He wasn't altogether sure where the train was at those times, or where the cleaning crew came from.

Occasionally he got glimpses of other trains, unlike his, rushing past in the rain or going slowly in the snow. They were, he thought, filled with passengers who, one day, might join his list. Regular commuters, you might say. He would welcome them aboard.


End file.
